 | Prologue Spoke at the Theatre-Royal in Behalf of the Poor Weavers of the City of Dublin, April, 1st. 1720 |  |
PROLOGUE Spoke at the THEATRE-ROYAL IN Behalf of the Poor Weavers of the City of Dublin, April, 1st. 1720
By Mr. ELRINGTON.
Great Cry and little Wool—is now become,
The Plague and Proverb of the Weavers Loom:
No Wool to Work on, neither Weft nor Warp,
Their Pockets empty, and their Stomachs Sharp;
Provok'd in loud Complaints, to you they cry,
Ladies, Relieve the Weavers, or they Die;
Forsake your Silks for Stuffs, nor think it strange
To shift your Cloaths, since you delight in Change,
One thing with Freedom I'll presume to tell,
The Men will like you every bit as well.
The Plague and Proverb of the Weavers Loom:
No Wool to Work on, neither Weft nor Warp,
Their Pockets empty, and their Stomachs Sharp;
Provok'd in loud Complaints, to you they cry,
Ladies, Relieve the Weavers, or they Die;
Forsake your Silks for Stuffs, nor think it strange
To shift your Cloaths, since you delight in Change,
One thing with Freedom I'll presume to tell,
The Men will like you every bit as well.
See, I am dress'd from Top to Toe in Stuff,
And by my Troth I think I'm fine enough:
My Wife Admires me more, and Swears she never
In any Dress beheld me look so Clever.
And if a Man be better in such Ware,
What great Advantage must it give the Fair.
Our Wool from Lambs of Innocence proceeds,
Silk comes from Maggots, Callicoes from Weeds.
Hence 'tis by sad Experience that we find,
Ladies in Silk to Vapours are inclin'd,
And what are they but Maggots in the Mind.
For which I think it Reason to Conclude
That Cloaths may change our Tempers with our Food.
Chinces are gawdy, and engage our Eyes,
Too much about the party colour'd Dies:
Altho' the Luster is from you begun,
We see the Rain-bow, and neglect the Sun.
And by my Troth I think I'm fine enough:
My Wife Admires me more, and Swears she never
In any Dress beheld me look so Clever.
And if a Man be better in such Ware,
What great Advantage must it give the Fair.
Our Wool from Lambs of Innocence proceeds,
Silk comes from Maggots, Callicoes from Weeds.
Hence 'tis by sad Experience that we find,
Ladies in Silk to Vapours are inclin'd,
And what are they but Maggots in the Mind.
For which I think it Reason to Conclude
That Cloaths may change our Tempers with our Food.
Chinces are gawdy, and engage our Eyes,
Too much about the party colour'd Dies:
Altho' the Luster is from you begun,
We see the Rain-bow, and neglect the Sun.
How Sweet and Innocent's the Country Maid
With small expence, in Native Wool array'd;
Who copies from the Fields her homely Green,
While by her Shepherd with delight she's seen;
Shou'd our Fair Ladies dress like her in Wooll,
How much more Lovely, and how Beautiful!
Without their Indian Drapery they'd prove
And Wool wou'd help to warm them into Love;
Then like the famous Argonauts of Greece,
We'd all contend to gain the Golden-Fleece.
With small expence, in Native Wool array'd;
Who copies from the Fields her homely Green,
While by her Shepherd with delight she's seen;
Shou'd our Fair Ladies dress like her in Wooll,
How much more Lovely, and how Beautiful!
Without their Indian Drapery they'd prove
And Wool wou'd help to warm them into Love;
Then like the famous Argonauts of Greece,
We'd all contend to gain the Golden-Fleece.
| Prologue Spoke at the Theatre-Royal in Behalf of the Poor Weavers of the City of Dublin, April, 1st. 1720 | |